Quinn didn’t move or breathe, to prevent alerting anyone to his presence, as he was an interloper in this dimension.
Nothing good ever came from being discovered somewhere you weren’t supposed to be. And the less he interfered, the less influence he’d have on the outcome.
The mist slowly calmed and sank to hover at his knees, exposing ten figures dressed in gray robes. Torches lit the inside of a cathedral-like building. The figures all faced forward, to where a person draped in a bloodred robe stood on a stone platform in front of them.
A chill ran up Quinn’s spine.
The place where they were meeting resembled what his education had taught him of the great hall in TÅμr Medb.
But it was the smell of decayed limes that confirmed he viewed a coven meeting of the Beladors’ greatest enemy—the Medb.
You seek me, Belador?
Quinn forced himself not to react at the voice so close to his ear. He turned his head to face Larsen O’Meary. Quinn controlled his gag reflex at the sagging skin falling off the dead O’Meary. He couldn’t allow an uncontained spurt of emotion to trigger a reaction and expose his intrusion to anyone else in this dimension.
Larsen said,I wondered when someone would come looking for my spirit. I granted this connection and will allowyou to witness this glimpse of the future only if you agree to protect my son.
Agree to anything with a bastard who hadn’t given a damn about his child? Quinn would love to interrogate the spirit—and choke him to death. But that would be redundant, and he would not risk alerting the Medb to his intrusion.
To do so would allow access to Conlan’s mind.
Quinn would protect the young man first above all else.
If this really was a precognitive vision, getting an insight into Medb plans could be great news for Beladors, so Quinn nodded to encourage the spirit to continue.
Larsen turned his gaze toward the meeting in progress. His skin swayed with the movement.
Quinn did the same and willed the vision to turn slowly so that he could see everyone’s faces clearly. He paused the motion when the chanting ended and the figure on the platform lowered the hood on her robe.
He shouldn’t have been surprised at learning her identity, but one mistake and Kizira would know he was present.
This was new territory for him in mind probes and not the place he wanted to learn the consequences of making an error.
He reached for his deep point of peace to remain invisible.
The Medb priestess addressed her group. “I have seen a vision of breaching the Castle Treoir.”
As a direct Medb descendant, Kizira had once told Quinn that her visions were destined to become reality. She said, “I have seen the face of the one who will lead the charge.”
Quinn’s control quivered at the fierce urge to protect their warrior queen. Much as he wanted to return immediately to Tzader so they could figure out how to shield Brina, he couldn’t.
Not until he had learned all he could from Kizira. He tried not to think about what would happen to Kizira if she attacked Brina. Even if Kizira was Medb, she’d once saved his life . . . and shared her body with him.
He forced his mind to be still again.
Kizira’s voice rose with jubilation. “We have waited a long time for this opportunity and for the one who will hand us the key to our success. Step forward, brother, and tell everyone how we will triumph over the Beladors, who have persecuted you even though you bleed their blood.”
A man in the center of the pack moved forward and lifted his hands to his hood as he spoke. “There is an Alterant who is ready to lead us to victory by breaching the warding of Treoir Castle. In return, we have offered this Alterant what no one else can, the end of being victimized by the Beladors.”
When the hood dropped to the speaker’s shoulders, Conlan’s face—right down to the comma-shaped scar on his cheek—shook Quinn to his spine.
Conlan said, “When the time comes to take possession of Treoir, Priestess, I will deliver you Evalle Kincaid, who will destroy the inhabitants of Treoir Castle and open the gates for you.”
In that split second, shock overrode his emotions. Quinn’s control cracked.
Kizira’s head slashed sideways, her sharp gaze slicing through the layers of the vision to reach him.
Her eyes widened. Recognition. Shock. Confusion.
